


Body and Blood

by Philomytha



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Komarr, Piotr tries to save his son and Ezar tries to save his Empire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body and Blood

"I want you to post him to Kyril Island," Piotr said.

Ezar raised an eyebrow. "You think it's going to be that bad?" he said mildly. "I will not let your son be destroyed, Piotr. Trust me for that. The murder business will die down soon enough. It was a glorious victory."

"Some kinds of destruction are easier to avert than others," Piotr answered. "Last night he went back to that Vorrutyer--that Vorrutyer." Piotr did not possess, in his entire rich barracks vocabulary, a word ugly enough for that Vorrutyer. "When he finally made it home around mid-morning, he was ... hurt. I thought that was over. I won't have it starting up again. Vorrutyer won't follow the boy to Kyril Island."

Ezar's eyes were knowing. Negri had probably told him the whole story already, in all likelihood he knew more than Piotr did. Piotr hadn't asked Aral's valet anything beyond whether to call a doctor, but he'd seen enough.

Ezar leaned forward and poured them both glasses of brandy. "Vorrutyer's untouchable now, you know," he said, taking the first sip. "I should have let you get rid of him along with the sister twenty years ago. Now he's got his claws in my boy too, and it's too late."

That was the other reason Piotr hadn't enquired too closely into what Vorrutyer had done to Aral, because if he knew, he might have decided on murder anyway, and let the political backlash go hang. Aral was a man and it was for men to deal with their problems on their own, but still, Aral was his child and Olivia's child and Piotr had sworn on her grave to guard him.

"But won't he just drink himself to death on Kyril Island instead, if we send him there?" Ezar asked with a wry curl of his lip.

That made Piotr wince, because it was true enough. "If it comes to it, better that than Vorrutyer. But he's surprisingly bad at drinking, for all he does it so much. And getting him away from here will help." He took a sip of the brandy and rolled it around his mouth. It wasn't quite the best, but then, he'd never been able to train Ezar's palate.

"True. Wish I could send my boy there too. Too late again. You came out better with sons."

Piotr said nothing to that, because there was nothing to say, and there was a long silence. Piotr could feel something hanging in it, waiting. He outwaited it.

"The doctors give me three years. Maybe four or five if I'm lucky," Ezar said finally. He was staring into the fire, determinedly avoiding Piotr's gaze.

Piotr swallowed a suddenly bitter mouthful of brandy. He didn't waste time on platitudes, since Ezar cared for them as little as he did. "Who else knows?" he asked.

"Just the doctors. And you. You need to know."

"Why?" Not for old times' sake, Piotr was sure.

"Because if we don't think of anything better, you'll have to depose him, after I'm gone."

"Fuck," Piotr said at last. "I'm too old for another war."

"Then guard your son, because it'll be his fight. His empire, in the end."

A cold chill settled on Piotr at those words. "But what if there's a baby? An heir?"

Ezar opened his hand. "Negri will keep watch, but ... if Kareen bears a son to term it'll be a miracle. She's miscarried twice now. A double miracle if he survives his infancy. Your boy is a full war leader already." He sighed. "Perhaps you were wrong, that night," he said, and he didn't have to say which night he meant. "You should have kept the throne for yourself."

"I know why I made the choices I did," Piotr said. "I never wanted the throne."

"And you knew I was just stupid enough to want it, and bright enough to learn from you. If only you'd been able to teach my son too." He emptied his glass. "But you did teach your son. Even though he's a bit peculiar sometimes. He can fight and he can lead and he can win, and that's what Barrayar needs." Ezar stood up, and Piotr noticed that he moved with difficulty now. Piotr stood too, leaning against the wall, and watched Ezar pace up and down in the little private library.

"So," Ezar said slowly, coming to rest a step from Piotr. "We'll do what must be done. I'll let Grishnov go to his length with Aral--not a trial, of course, that idiot political officer wasn't a Vor, after all--but demotion, an Imperial censure and official disgrace. And then Kyril Island for a few months. Then--then I think we want him really away from here, the further the better. Detached duty with a ship or two, he's good at that. It'll get messier here before it gets better, and I want your boy to return as a war leader, not just one more player in the dirtiest games. Knowing him, he'll find some way to do something interesting, and then we can bring him home in glory before I die." He said those words very levelly, and Piotr gave a slight, approving nod. Men lived and men died, but great men used their deaths for their own ends as they used their lives. That was what he had yet to teach Aral, who was trying to waste his death on foolery. Ezar caught the gesture, and Piotr saw for a moment his old protégé in the Emperor, a tiny gleam of pleasure in Ezar's eye.

Then Ezar turned away. "It's too late for my boy. But not for yours. Keep him safe, Piotr. I need him."

He'd taught Ezar to use every tool, every weapon he could find, to preserve Barrayar. He could hardly complain when Ezar took his son as such a tool. All the same, it turned his stomach cold and sick. He'd escaped the Imperium on his own behalf only to curse his son with it instead. But he couldn't see anything Ezar had missed. Serg was already as bad as Yuri, and getting worse, and there was no guarantee of a new heir. Aral was the next choice, and Aral could do it.

"He's Vorkosigan," he told Ezar soberly. "He knows how to survive, in his bones. He'll serve, sire. Body and blood."

He'd given Ezar the throne, and now he'd give Ezar his son as a death-offering, to burn in the Imperium's fire. And until then, he'd do everything in his power to keep Aral alive.

 _I'm sorry, Olivia. But you were Vorbarra too. You understand why I can't save him from this._


End file.
